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She had done her reluctant utmost in that lingering kiss-trying, against all her instincts, for his very sake, to stir him. She had not succeeded, and she could not but be grateful. She was no leash-eater. But her pity for him was monstrous-a terrific, war-born thing, a portent, too heavy a burden, almost to carry about the world.

"Good-by, Oswald," she said. "Remember, I'm always here. I won't give you marchpane another time."

"You dear," he murmured as he clasped her hand.

"You're very fond of me, and I of you. And when you want to tell any one anything, you'd better tell me. For, after what you've said, I shall understand. Most people wouldn't."

"You think I'm mad," he said. "No. Only such a complicated thing as war must have infinitely complicated results. It has, physically, God knows; why not morally? You're a very curious case. I don't think you ought to go back. But I take your word for it that you've changed fundamentally; and of course there's an off chance you may be right. I don't believe it, for a moment. But nothing shocks me, and I feel, somehow, as though you were my oldest friend in this very old world.”

She was very calm. Calmness seemed to be the only expression her pity could find. She tried once more. "I don't see, myself, why any one should come out of Flanders the same person he went in. It's the miracle of Nature-who never was a theorist, nor even a Liberal, as I make her out-that so many do. Write to me, won't you?" She nodded. pleasantly at him.

He choked a little. "It's over for me, Millicent-but, thank Heaven! it isn't for you. I hope you'll have a long life under Magdalen Tower.

But you won't!" His voice turned harsh at the last words, and his marred face looked wholly grim and sinister a war-made thing, like so many, these days.

"We'll talk it all over again the next time." She let these words follow him into the public hall.

She knew she was hoping passionately that there would be no next time, though conscious of what it was that would, in such a case, prevent. Indeed, she shud

dered, as women always must when a man goes "back," knowing that no man can cheat the statistics forever. So far as her happiness was concerned, it would not matter, but her pity still followed him heavily.

She came back into the little drawingroom, put on her thick sweater, and passed into the dining-room. She had eaten almost nothing, herself; she was faint and hungry. Almost defiantly, she sought the larder and fetched back to the dying fire the untouched savory and a glass of wine. After she had eaten and drunk, she lighted a cigarette. It was many months since she had smoked, and the first inhalations brought giddiness and a light intoxication. The close horizons broadened and shifted. . . . She came back into a long-lost world where phrases float like motes in the sun, and one can savor even one's own sorrow. Her pity for Oswald Hamlin became a more tolerable thing She had wrestled. with the enemy for his soul, and in vain. She ached all over from the conflict, but she cherished her soreness, for it proved that she had fought-yes, even to that last terrible kiss. She knew how to scorn words as well as Oswald Hamlin; and their controversy had not stopped with words.

Yet she came back to words in the end, inevitably. Slowly they shaped themselves in her mind, forgotten for years:

All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and

sorrows are cast

Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the surf of the past: Where beyond the extreme sea-wall, and between the remote sea-gates, Waste water washes, and tall ships founder,

and deep death waits. They were marvellously comfortable to her.

And now she must go to bed. Lady Sayres penalized them with her heavy displeasure if they were late or weary. She was very cold, too, now that the fire had burned out; but as she turned out the lights she was grateful for coldness. as she had never been for warmth-most grateful of all that the blood ran so slow in her veins, that nowhere in her brain or flesh, from head to foot, was the tiniest rebellious flicker.

Impressions of the Kaiser

I. THE SOURCES OF THE KAISER'S POWER

BY DAVID JAYNE HILL

Former American Ambassador to Germany

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HE true lessons of a tragedy are not to be found in the supreme moment when the drama has reached the climax of passion, but in the errors of judgment or defiance of moral law that have made it a tragedy.

In attempting at this time an analysis of the sources of the Kaiser's power and the methods employed for its further development, my purpose is to throw a new light, if possible, upon the present European situation by lifting a curtain, not upon the scene as it is set upon the stage of contemporary action, but upon the evolution of the chief character of the drama in the course of his preparation for the rôle which he has cast for himself.

This process of development is possibly more vivid to my mind, and certainly more impressive in my judgment, from the fact that it was my lot to be in Germany in the two most critical periods of the political evolution of the Empire. As a result, there is an inevitable concentration of thought, not merely upon the contrast between the two periods which may be roughly designated as 1888-90 and 1908-14-but upon the causes that have connected them and that explain the transition from the earlier to the later period.

In these two periods my points of view were different, and each had its peculiar advantage. In the first period I saw William II as his own people saw him, and intimacy with them disclosed the estimate they placed upon him. In the second period my personal contacts with the Kaiser himself during more than three years were more intimate and more varied than usually fall to the lot of a

foreign ambassador at the Court of Berlin.

At the time of the accession of William II as King of Prussia and German Emperor, on June 15, 1888, after the brief reign of Frederick III, the German Empire had already taken on its definite form and was regarded as a firmly established great power, which might or might not become a menace to the rest of Europe according to the policies by which its future might be determined. The unity of the German states was secure, the power of Prussia was everywhere felt among them, and the work of Bismarck was complete.

That the Empire was an achievement of superior military force on the part of Prussia, and in no sense a creation of the German people, was universally understood. No one familiar with the history of Prussia doubted that its influence would continue to be dominant in the Empire. The Prussian philosophy of the state had completely triumphed; and to that philosophy, based on monarchical absolutism, the idea of parliamentary control was known to be repugnant. The King of Prussia was by heredity the German Emperor, and no King of Prussia had ever forgotten the traditions of the House of Hohenzollern, which had advanced from a Suabian lordship to the eminence of empire by centuries of conquest, annexation, and unscrupulous diplomacy, seeking alliances wherever additional power or prestige could be obtained, and renouncing them whenever they became a burden or ceased to offer an advantage.

Every intelligent German understood this; but now that the strength and policies of Prussia were at the service of the Empire, the state that had long been the common menace and often the hated

enemy had become the protector and potential organizer of all, and the primitive tribalism that had always characterized the Germans, that had attached them to their local princes, that had in its time effectively nullified the Holy Roman Empire of the German nation, that had embroiled them in internecine wars, and for centuries had made German territory a prey to foreign conquest and hopeless division, was now merged in a larger tribalism. Germany had at last become self-conscious as a nation, and the mutual hostility that had doomed the German tribes to separatism was now transformed into a general hostility to all that is not German. No longer a mere geographical expression, as for centuries it had been, Germany had become through blood and iron the victor over a common foe. Thenceforth, as throughout German history the stronger tribe had dominated over the weaker, so now Prussia, which had evoked the soul of Deutschtum, had imposed upon it a superior will, and there arose from a united people the "Deutschland über Alles!"

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The economic advantages of the Empire had become evident and immense. A great realm for ages divided by a tangle of limited frontiers was now made one. Exchanges had been promoted by the Zollverein, which had afforded a foretaste of the advantages of unity; but now the walls of separation were entirely swept away. Central authority was clearing the ground of local impediments to general industrial and commercial prosperity. But, above all, the provincial spirit of earlier times was vanishing, a universal emancipation of thitherto restricted energies was occurring. Germany, unified, victorious, prosperous, and aspiring, felt a sense of mighty strength and a keen impulse toward wider expansion. Poverty was giving way to wealth, frugality to luxury, and humility to pride.

Before the Germany of 1888 two paths were open. Had Frederick III, surnamed the "Noble," continued to reign a decade, instead of only ninety-nine days, the tendency in government would have been toward liberalism. More and more the Imperial Constitution would have been interpreted in a liberal spirit.

Ministers would have been chosen with reference to the will of the people as expressed in the Reichstag. The Emperor would have reigned, but his Ministers would have governed. The highest ideals of self-government might not have been swiftly realized, and certainly not immediately; for, as all German statesmen and writers have agreed, the Germans have not been bred to self-government. They have always relied upon their princes as more or less paternal rulers, and they would think it presumptuous to dictate to their recognized superiors. But actual government always consists more in a spirit than in a form. Autocracy and democracy are theoretically. antithetical; but practically a ruler nominally absolute may listen to the voice of his people, while the head of a democracy may exercise the will and display the qualities of a Cæsar.

For Germany strong central control seemed to be essential, and the character of the Prussian monarchy opened a path toward absolutism in the future development of the Empire. There was, it must not be forgotten, an Imperial Constitution. The whole future of Germany depended upon the interpretation of it. Without changing an article, it could be administered liberally or autocratically; for in all constitutional governments it is the historic spirit that prevails.

The point of conspicuous interest here is the interpretation of the Imperial Constitution that was actually made and accepted, and to this must be added the tendency to confirm or to reject it that has been developed during the present

war.

Whoever will take in hand the Constitution of the German Empire and read it merely as a document will be surprised, if not already familiar with its contents, at the façade of liberalism that presents itself.

First of all, it is a written constitution; which implies that it is, in effect, a definition and restriction of sovereign power so far as the prerogatives of government are concerned. It begins with a list of independent sovereigns-kings and grand dukes-the King of Prussia heading the list and acting in the name of the North German Confederation, who "conclude an eternal alliance for

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the protection of the territory of the Confederation and the rights of the same, as well as for the promotion of the welfare of the German people." It neither renounces nor abrogates the sovereign rights of the monarchs who form this new alliance. It confers a common citizenship" upon all Germans and enumerates their rights. "Against foreign countries all Germans shall have an equal claim upon the protection of the Empire." The legislative power of the Empire is conferred upon the Bundesrat and the Reichstag, a majority of the votes of both bodies being necessary and sufficient for the passage of a law. The King of Prussia has merely the "presidency" of the Confederation, with the title of "German Emperor."

Nothing in all this sounds in the least autocratic. On the contrary, all seems very liberal. The German Emperor is not a monarch, except in Prussia. All the other confederated sovereigns are equally monarchs in their own realms. He is only a "president," primus inter pares. Whence, then, his autocratic power?

Ninety-nine one hundredths of the Imperial Constitution could be transcribed into the constitution of the most democratic federal state without serious criticism. The absolute authority which the Imperial Constitution undoubtedly confers upon the King of Prussia is ingeniously concealed under the most plausible camouflage.

It is impossible here to enter upon a detailed exposition of this device, in which Bismarck believed he had triumphed over parliamentarism, which he bitterly opposed, and had rendered himself as Imperial Chancellor omnipotent in the Empire under a "president" whom he intended to be merely titular. The whole structure of government in the Empire pivots on the action of the Imperial Chancellor, as provided in Articles 15 to 17. The Chancellor is appointed by the Emperor, requires no confirmation, and cannot be removed except by the Emperor. The Imperial Chancellor alone can by his signature give validity to the decrees and ordinances of the Emperor, and "thereby assumes responsibility for them"; but

only to the Emperor, who has the right of forcible execution in all the states.

It did not require very long for the alert intelligence of William II to perceive who, under this organic law, possessed all the power in the Empire. Armed with the prerogative of personally appointing and recalling every one of real importance under the Imperial Constitution, and with the authority to execute by force his own decrees and ordinances, "this young man," as Bismarck rather contemptuously called him, at the age of twenty-nine, ascended what he understood to be, in effect, the imperial throne, regardless of the pretense that it was only the seat of a presidency." As soon as the death of Frederick the Noble was announced, he promptly took possession of his entire heritage, in the full consciousness that as King in Prussia he could extend the prerogatives of kingship over the entire Empire.

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As a youth he had aroused the deep concern of his father. On the twelfth anniversary of his son's birth, Frederick III wrote in his diary:

It is an occasion for fear when one thinks of the hopes that rest from this time forward upon the head of that child, and what a great responsibility is incumbent upon us toward our country for the direction of his education, since considerations of family and rank, the life of the Court of Berlin, and so many other things render his education difficult.

The condition of Germany in the years that followed in no way diminished the reasons for this solicitude. The return to Berlin of victorious armies, the coronation of his grandfather, William I, the universal exhilaration of newly unified Germany, the glory and the praise of Prussia, had all acted upon his sensitive nature like the excitement of a play, and yet it was palpable reality. All the prose of life seemed dull to him. As a young soldier he passed rapidly through the different grades up to that of general; but it was never forgotten by his comrades when at school in Bonn, or in the army, that he was some day to be the head of that glorious Germany that had more than realized the dreams of the medieval time, when mailed knights led their armies over the Alps to be crowned

at Rome; and, most of all, the young prince himself never forgot it. All the realities with which he came in contact were veiled in the glamour of a time when it seemed that everything was possible, and that a new and marvelous era had just begun.

Of all those youthful impressions that had touched the imagination of the young Kaiser the deepest was that of the victorious army which in his boyhood had returned from France. Of the three rescripts with which he began his reign, the first, on the day of his accession to the throne, was addressed to the soldiers. "The absolute and indestructible fidelity of the army,' runs this first utterance of the young Emperor, "is the heritage transmitted from father to son from generation to generation. . . . We are inseparably united. . . . We are made for each other, I and the army, and we shall remain closely attached whether God gives us peace or storm.'

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This has been the keynote of the Emperor's entire reign. The army, that was his first thought, for it was that which had created his imperial heritage, it was that which could enable him to read into the Imperial Constitution the full meaning of the Hohenzollern traditions, and make the whole realm what his ancestors had made Prussia, a patrimonial estate to be transmitted by him. to future generations of his House.

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To William II the army was a dynastic possession. Was it the "nation in arms,' as Germans love to speak of it, that was in his mind? Perhaps, but not the nation controlled by the people's will. The oath of its allegiance is not taken to the Constitution, but_personally to the Emperor. The Prussian Constitution openly proclaims this, and explicitly declares, “A swearing-in upon the Constitution of the country does not take place." As King of Prussia and as Emperor the Kaiser is the head and chief of the Prussian and the Imperial army, to whom alone and without question they owe obedience. He has, therefore, the legal right to say, as he has said, "The more people shelter themselves behind catchwords and party considerations the more firmly and securely do I count upon my army, and the more confidently do I hope that my army, either

VOL. CXXXVI.—No. 816.-100

without or within my realms, will wait upon my wishes and my behests." Not only this, but he felt it necessary to say to the new recruits: "You have sworn loyalty to me; that means that you are now my soldiers, you have given yourselves up to me body and soul; there is for you but one enemy, and that is my enemy. In view of the present_agitations it may come to pass that I shall command you to shoot your own relatives, brothers, yes, parents-which God forbid-but even then you must follow my command without a murmur." And, in saying this, he knew that he was appealing to an instinct of personal fealty nowhere in the world so strong as that bred into the nature of Germans through the many centuries of obedience when existence depended upon the feudal consecration of a vassal to his lord, who alone could afford protection to his life.

Such an army cannot inquire into the causes, the laws, or the moralities of war. Mute and obedient, it marches where it is ordered to march, stands where it is ordered to stand, and falls, when it must fall, in the faith that God will reward its fidelity with eternal blessedness.

The second thought of the new Emperor on the day of his accession was of the neglected little navy. Already his fancy had taken wings beyond the frontiers of the Empire, and led him to dream of its extension beyond the sea. No German Emperor had ever thought it worth while to address a rescript to the navy, but it was William's second act. "Whoever knows the navy," he wrote, "is aware that every man is ready to sacrifice his life for the German flag.

In grave moments we shall certainly be united, and in fair or cloudy days we shall always be ready to shed our blood to safeguard the honor of the German flag and the glory of our German Fatherland.”

Having thus identified the army and the navy with himself as the two most powerful instruments of his purposes, it was not until the fourth day that he issued a rescript to the people.

The eagerness with which the new Emperor had addressed himself to the army and navy before issuing a general proclamation to the nation as a whole, joined with his reputation for impulsive

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